“Well!” demanded the man laconically.

“Is this James MacHenry?”

“That’s me, boy.”

“I would like to see you on business,” Jerry went on, as he brushed past and entered one of the barest living apartments he had ever seen.

“On business?”

“Yes, a few days ago you picked up a packet downtown belonging to me—a packet containing some documents and letters.”

“Who said they belonged to you?”

“I say so. My name is Jerry Upton, and I dropped the packet in the alleyway where you found it.”

The man stared at our hero.

“Say, is this a game?” he demanded, harshly.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you trying to get me into trouble?”

“No, I am trying to keep you out of trouble,” replied the young oarsman, warmly.

“You say that packet belonged to you?”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t have your name on it.”

“No, it—” Our hero stopped short. “It had Alexander Slocum’s name on it!” he burst out.

“Exactly.”

“You don’t mean to say you delivered that packet to him?” gasped the youth.

“I did—not an hour ago.”

Jerry fell back into a chair and breathed heavily. The packet was gone—into the hands of the enemy!

“The man said it was his package,” said Crazy Jim. “He gave me a reward of five dollars for returning it to him.”

“It was mine. He wanted to steal it—and now he’s done it,” cried Jerry. “You let him have it but an hour ago?”

“Yes.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you open the packet?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t make nothing out of it—’cos I ain’t eddicated. I read his name on it and got another fellow to write a postal card yesterday afternoon. He came here, examined the papers, and seemed much pleased.”

“No doubt he was pleased,” groaned the young oarsman.

“Was the thing worth much?”

“It was worth a good deal. I would have given five dollars to get it back.”

“What does he want with it?”

“Wants to do my father out of some property,” answered our hero. “By the way, who is that little girl who lives with you?”

At this question Crazy Jim’s face darkened.

“That ain’t none of your business,” he growled.

“You shouldn’t send her out on the street to beg.”

“Wot! has she been blabbin’ again? I’ll break every bone in her body!” and off the man started out of the room and down the narrow stairs.

Jerry had noticed that his breath smelt strongly of liquor. He was not only a drinking man, but also one who was not quite right in his head.

“Don’t hurt her, you brute!” called out the boy, and followed him out of the alleyway into the street. At the nearest corner stood the little girl, and Crazy Jim rushed up to her fiercely.

“You good-fer-nothin’!” he bawled. “I’ll teach ye a lesson! Didn’t I tell ye ter keep yer clapper still about me? Take that! and that!”

He raised his heavy hand and struck her a cruel blow on the side of the head. She staggered back, and he was about to repeat his unjust action, when Jerry thought it about time to interfere. Catching him by the arm, our hero hurled him backward with such force that he fell flat in the gutter.

At once a shout went up from those who saw Jerry’s action.

“What are yer doin’?”

“Who is that boy?”

With a fearful exclamation, Crazy Jim arose to his feet.

“I’ll fix ye fer that!” he hissed, and sprang forward. “You ain’t got no right ter interfere between me an’ the gal.”

“You are a brute!” burst out our hero. “This little girl has done nothing to deserve such punishment.”

“Who set you over me?” howled the infuriated man. “I’ll fix ye!”

He tried his best to hit Jerry with his fist, but the young oarsman dodged him and took a stand in front of the little girl.

“You had better run away,” Jerry whispered to her. “He is in a terrible mood just now.”

“Where shall I go?” whimpered the girl.

“Anywhere? Up two blocks. I will join you soon.”

Without delay the little girl ran off. Crazy Jim tried to follow her, but Jerry headed him off.

Seeing he could do nothing with his hands, the savage man looked around for some weapon. A heavy stone was lying handy, and he picked it up. The next moment it was launched at our hero’s head.

Luckily, Jerry was quick at dodging, or he might have been seriously wounded. The missile went sailing over the lad’s head and flew with a crash through the front window of a neighboring store.

The smashing of the pane of glass was followed by a shout of alarm from the storekeeper, who sat in a chair on the pavement.

“Here, vot’s dot?” he yelled. “Vot you means py preaking mine vinder, hey, you Crazy Gim? I vos got you locked up. Ain’t it? Bolice! bolice!”

The German storekeeper continued to yell so loudly that it was not long before an officer appeared. Seeing this, Jerry backed out of the crowd and hurried off. He saw the policeman catch Crazy Jim by the arm, and a wordy war followed. A minute later the fellow was being marched off to the station-house. No doubt the policeman would have liked it had he found Jerry, but our hero kept at a safe distance.

It was now quite dark, and it was with some difficulty that Jerry again found the little girl. She stood by a hitching post, sobbing bitterly.

“Where is he?” she asked, choking back her sobs.

“The policeman took him off. Don’t cry any more,” Jerry added, soothingly.

“But where shall I go?” she asked. “I can’t go back.”

“Have you no friends?”

“No. Crazy Jim and I came to New York alone when papa died.”

“Where did you come from?”

The little girl shook her head at this. She had been too young to remember.

“What is your name?”

“Dottie.”

“Dottie what?”

“Nothing, only Dottie.”

Jerry was in a quandary. To a certain degree he felt responsible for her present forlorn condition. Suddenly an idea struck him.

“If you will come with me, I’ll see to it that you have a good bed to-night, and breakfast in the morning,” he said. “And after that I’ll see what I can do for you, Dottie.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Jerry Upton.”

“You look like a nice boy and I’ll go with you,” and she placed her hand confidently in that of the young oarsman.

Jerry took the little one to Nellie Ardell’s apartments. Of course she was much surprised, and, sitting down, our hero had to explain everything as far as he was able. Nellie Ardell agreed instantly to take the little girl in.

“You can stay here until we can do something for you,” she said. “I know how it would feel to have little Tommy on the streets homeless.”

And soon after that Dottie was put to bed, very well content. Her hard life with Crazy Jim had made her used to ups and downs that no ordinary little girl could have endured.

The reader can well imagine that Jerry did not sleep much that night. He could not forget that Alexander Slocum had the precious packet of papers. Bitterly he regretted not having taken better care of the documents.

“I will call on Slocum, and come to some sort of an understanding,” Jerry said to himself. “Perhaps when I tell him that both Nellie Ardell and myself are ready to proceed against him he will be willing to come to terms.”

The next day was a busy one at the book-bindery, and our hero got no chance to call on Slocum. During that time he learned that Crazy Jim had been locked up for resisting the officer and had been sentenced to thirty days on Blackwell’s Island.

The young oarsman did not know what to do about little Dottie, but Nellie Ardell solved this question.

“I have received a whole lot of new work,” she said. “So for the present we can keep her to mind Tommy while I am dressmaking.”

So the little girl stayed on. Jerry never dreamed of how much she had to do with his future life.

On Thursday Mr. Islen’s brother died and the bindery was closed for several days. Jerry took the opportunity to walk down to Alexander Slocum’s offices.

The real estate man was alone, and greeted our hero with a sinister smile.

“So you have seen fit to call again, young man,” were his first words.

“Mr. Slocum, let us come to business,” Jerry replied firmly. “What are you going to do about my father’s claim?”

Alexander Slocum laughed harshly.

“Your father’s claim?” he repeated. “I don’t recognize the fact that your father has any claim against me.”